Another Face
by cybErdrAgOn
Summary: One grain of rice can tip the scale. One brilliant child can change history. She knows not exactly why she left her world of mathematics and computers, so will she help the warring nation of Tortall?
1. Chapter One: Unlikely

About the Story

Title: _Another Face_ (previously _Of Nations and No One_)

Author: cybErdrAgOn, aka Athena

Rating: PG13

Projected Length: 30-40 chapters if I ever finish—this is definitely not set in concrete

Organization: Four parts, the titles of which will appear as soon as I have finished with each one

Summary: One grain of rice can tip the scale. One brilliant child can change history. She knows not why she left her world of mathematics and computers, but her newest task is a daunting one. One child has the potential to help the warring nation of Tortall, using the unique blend of talents from both the past and the future. But the future has bred independence and thoughtfulness, neither of which lead towards blind obedience. In the minds of those in power, the question is, of course, will she help?

Disclaimer: I own none of Tamora Pierce's characters, plots, or central ideas; all that I own are the original character Alceta and some auxiliary characters. Anything which you recognize as yours or of another author's is not mine.

Chapter One: Unlikely

Alice was a product of her age, a contemplative, unemotional shadow of a 9-year-old who could often be found typing fiery statements against some new global issue on the Nets or jotting down notes on theories of elasticity. She had no knowledge of food preparation, or hunting, which was strictly forbidden, or even how to accept incorrect authorities, but there was no need. What the world needed then was geniuses, young minds that rivaled the greatest scientists of all time. And Alice had the qualities to prosper in such a society; she was talented, logical, and viewed life with a critical eye. With her, and hundreds of other children, scientific advancements flew out of the laboratories at an astonishing rate, and money and honor flew into their pockets just as quickly until they became the "master race", commanding the wealthy and the famous as well as the weak and stupid.

As she walked through the transparent Lexan tunnel connecting two sections of the apartment complex, a little girl, for all the inspiration in her head and books in her arms, a soft breeze ruffled her hair and shirt. Her arms shook slightly as if they were cold, but the air was just comfortably warm in the aerial sidewalk. Rather, she was nervous, more nervous than she had been for a long, long time.

She continued past empty cubicles and locked doors until she reached 498 and stopped. Glinting gold drew her attention, and nothing more, yet it glowed briefly, the numbers rearranging themselves into words. "Reign of King Jonathan the IV and Queen Thayet." "Crown of Tortall." "Prince Roald and Lady Alceta." Each lasted for no more than a second and Alice passed by quickly; it was probably just some newbie's idea of a joke.

"Alice."

The girl tossed a dark ponytail over her shoulder and glanced back, hoping to see a classmate or an old acquaintance, but there was no one in the hallway. It was empty as the streets down below, and yet, the voice was real.

"My daughter, your time has come." Melodic and sad, all at once, the voice spread until it engulfed the tiny figure and pulled her closer to its source. 

"I am not your daughter," replied Alice sharply, her face smooth and impassive as she had been taught. "And it is not in your turn to tell me about my time. I make my own choices." Doubtless it was a prank, but she couldn't help but tremble as the outline of a woman materialized from the shadows of a corner. 

_She is beautiful, too_, thought Alice, even though she had come into contact with very few adults. The environment of The Academy was designed to keep fresh thoughts sprouting up and to eliminate stifling outside influences. Usually, that meant that those older than 20 were separated from the youth, who were taught by the AI or by slightly older helpers who had flunked out of the main programs. 

But the woman was different, she could sense, something different from anyone she had seen before. Perfect, blood red lips graced ivory skin; even from such a distance, she was tall, taller than anyone Alice had seen before. Dark strands of hair framed her face, a sort of unearthly expression calmly imposed upon it.

A trace of a smile flitted across her face before she replied softly, "You are my daughter," and the final word was just short of a cry in her husky voice. "For I am the Mother Goddess." She let her hand fall to her side and nodded once at the little girl shouting defiance in her face.

"I don't believe in God!" Even as she spoke, her legs trembled under the strain—who would have thought that she was the one to be singled out, caught unawares? Alice was surprised but blinked twice and continued calmly, "And even if I did…you do not quite fit the ideal, a consideration that causes me to ask for your intentions." Nine-year-old logic was all but infallible when confronted with some barely perceptible danger, and hers was one of the best there was. Or so all the teachers thought.

"Alice, the world needs you." 

"I'm helping it right now."

"No, the world needs you more. Come with me, and you shall see for yourself." The enigmatic smile returned, almost luring her to take just one more step, believe one more lie. Until she exploded.

"Do you really expect me to listen?" she shook uncontrollably. "Stop playing the fool—or trying to make me join your game. Robert, turn the projector off right now!" There was a sneer carved across a creamy pale face, and it looked to be etched in white marble, unyielding, impersonal. Alice was all that the Goddess had thought.

Slowly the Goddess shook her head, then beckoned her come closer. "I will show you the world that needs you, and you will decide, my child. I cannot force you, but you have a brilliant mind. I trust you to make a fitting decision."

Alice gazed up into emerald orbs and inclined her head a fraction of an inch. Immediately flashes of color began to fly by her eyes; they were scenes of destruction, wasteland, poverty, despair, and all that existed in a nation falling into the abyss of warfare. When the visions paused, she stepped back on trembling legs before meeting the Goddess with hard eyes.

"I'm sorry, but no. Nothing you can offer is worth leaving, if there even is a place like that." 

The woman gave her a final pleading look before turning around and sweeping up her billowing skirts. She moved smoothly, silently, but pain showed in her bowed head and lilted gait. A look of deep disappointment settled onto her stately figure, gave her a tired expression. The proud but despondent aura surrounding the Mother Goddess encouraged even reticent Alice to part her lips and call out softly, "Could you come back here for a moment?"

It hurt her pride, the cool sense of right and wrong that could not _possibly _be mistaken. And yet, it just was. Alice did not want to admit her error, but she had a sudden desire to speak with this Goddess again. Like the mythology of the ancient Greeks and Romans, a supposed immortal had descended from the heavens to converse with herself, and from the standpoint of a theologian, the experience would have been fascinating. Even by her own standards, she felt a strange attraction to the woman that stretched deeper than prior commitments and thoughts. Suddenly logic was unimportant.

She swallowed hard before raising her gaze off the sterilized tile floors, feeling the hand of the Goddess looming above her head every inch of the way. "I…just wanted to say that, fine, I'll give it a try. I give my consent," she added, assuming the formal tone once more. "Will that be enough?"

"Indeed, it will," smiled the Goddess. "Close your eyes now." Alice obeyed, though wearily, and opened them again as soon as she was allowed. Pale white mists swirled around the pair, briefly forming pictures of beautiful, exotic lands faraway. Towering mountain peaks lost in hazy clouds, followed by a smooth, calm river, and lacy patches of light on the forest floor were both scenery and story, a story long and epic that had yet to be written. 

As much as she wanted to see more, they faded into each other just as quickly, leaving nothing but wisps of greens and browns behind. Deep brown eyes were wide with curiosity and wonder, and at that, the Goddess laughed a soft, rich laugh. 

"Now do you see, my daughter? Though you are an unlikely one, you will make more of a difference in this world than in the one from which you came."

Alice was silent for a moment and closed her eyes before answering in the low voice of a child who had her expectations and hopes dashed to pieces. "I was going to be a famous mathematician before, and you tell me that living on a farm in the middle of the wilderness will help?"

"You will be of use! I cannot afford to waste time!" boomed a voice from above, whose speaker was invisible. Alice shuddered.

The Goddess narrowed her lips slightly and sighed. "Alice, remember what I tell you now. You are an unlikely one, but I feel sure that you are right. Rest now, fall into slumber, for a long day will be upon you soon, daughter."

Stony-faced and stiff-legged, Alice took the advice and let her eyelids flutter shut.


	2. Chapter Two: Beginnings

Chapter Two: Beginnings

A vicious gust of wind lashed out onto the dozing girl's face, forcing her eyes open and her legs to brace themselves until they were upon relatively solid ground. Alice breathed in sharply once before allowing her weight to settle back down again. She had never touched the tiny flakes of snow that were now falling from the sky, nor tasted sweet droplets of rain, nor lain on soft grass with an autumn breeze grazing her face. All of it was new, and gladly her senses absorbed the novelties…

"Almost there, Alice," said the Goddess, who was gazing through the fog as though she alone could see a noteworthy feature of the land. "Now then, we shall have to make some arrangements, no?"

"Aye, yes," boomed a second voice emerging from a black, unnaturally billowing cloak. Beside him, a line of figures appeared, all nodding their consent. "I speak for my brothers and sisters as well, and we…welcome the little foreigner to our world," he added with a slightly menacing twist.

The blood red lips of the Mother Goddess opened and closed slightly; she spoke in a whisper, but they all heard. "Indeed we shall. Tortall is in dire need of she who is not a warrior, and this is the last chance." The Goddess looked down the line that was receding into the distance and nodded, as if asking for more disagreement.

In the end, it was Mithros, the shining protector, whose rumbling voice broke the uneasy silence. "She will need a title as well, for the convents will not readily accept those of the common blood…that you should know, sister."

"It has been arranged as well. Here stands Lady Alceta of Deimos Point. In a few years she will be managing the estate…in addition to learning with the Daughters."

"Then here is where we part, sister. Good luck, Alceta," Mithros bowed his great head slightly, and the immortals followed his example one after the other. Then they were gone, leaving the Mother Goddess and Alice alone once more.

"My daughter Alice, Alceta of Deimos Point, your life lies ahead. From now on, it is your choice," intoned the Goddess. "Let the magics of Tortall, Helleras, and America be one with you, to form a mighty trinity so that in your blood runs a force to be tamed." She raised her hands, and a web of blue-violet lightening spread across the girl's head and seeped through her skin. In a few minutes the air was still once more, but Alice shook on her feet, nearly ready to collapse.

"Get away from me, you, you," she cried weakly, but the woman before her refused to move. Gradually her breathing became more even, and her face was more resigned than belligerent. No one would be able to claim that she was stupid, not even in this ghostly world.

Suddenly the ground beneath them became the paved stone path winding up to the Temple of the Goddess, severe yet airy, a sentry just outside of the City of the Gods. Alice found herself precariously balanced upon a bay mare that nervously pawed the ground and tossed its delicate head from time to time. She wore a shirt and breeches made out of a strangely soft, smooth material, and they were covered by a dark green cloak. To her right rode the Goddess, who was dressed likewise and looked to be a true mortal for the first time. She smiled down but refused to say a word, even to the contorted expressions of fear on the girl's pale face.

Alice had never ridden a horse before.

* * * * *

King Jonathan ran a hand through graying black curls and sighed at the many maps spread out in front of him. Though the Scanran Wars were finally over, his people were anxious, much too anxious for his liking. They expected miracles, their brothers and fathers alive once more, the nation restored to its formal glory, and eternal peace for the world. And once more, only the rulers felt their anguish and realized that it was impossible.

To exacerbate foreign affairs, many of the small countries bordering Tortall were also weary of soldiers traipsing through their lands and taxing their already meager crops on a yearly basis, a problem that would eventually lead to another war far longer and more draining than any other. He felt powerful magic radiating from their capitals and villages alike and sensed growing unease. No longer could his country depend on old alliances; all such relationships would be forged anew. Thus arose the problem of subtly amassing knights and mages alike, as well as those who were talented in diplomacy. Such individuals were rare indeed.

Little pins sticking out of faded parchment represented key cities, and among them was Corus, the home of the royal family. But at times of strife, not even the king and queen were spared. No, they must lead the defense or the charge and invigorate their ailing people while ignoring their own needs. Instead of shielding their eyes with opulent wealth, they must share the ever-increasing burdens and fight with peasants, yet they must also retain the bearing that makes them fit to be nobility.

 Jon had never asked for the double blessing and curse of king, and he remained in the straight-backed chair until a door slowly creaked open to reveal the Queen Thayet calling him to sleep. The years had barely drained vitality and youth from her still stunning beauty; for her alone, the king rose and left the office with her, hand in hand.

 * * * *

The novice door-warden shielded her eyes and gazed off into the blinding midday sun as two riders approached from the west, one child-like, the other tall and graceful in her perfect balance. When they had reached the front gates, she hurried forward and said warily, "The doors of the Temple are open to all who shall reveal their name and purpose." Then the girl fell silent and waited for the larger of the two cloaked figures to explain. Even the Daughters could take no chances, and they knew well what fighting meant to their usually tranquil worlds.

"I bring Lady Alceta of Deimos Point to the First Daughter," replied the woman, her voice oddly reminiscent of hounds baying and trees creaking in the wind. Novice Kandella curtsied quickly before opening the gates without a word and leading them through the courtyard, leaving the horses to be tended by the younger girls. They were alone as they walked directly to the center of the Temple where the First-Daughter would be found. She ushered the visitors into the office, curtsied once more, and closed the door behind her. Once alone, Kandella breathed a relieved sigh, for it was not every day one met such powerful newcomers as she had sensed with her own Gift.

 "First Daughter," the Mother Goddess nodded, "I have brought Lady Alceta of Deimos Point today. You know already her future, do you not?"

Straight-backed and proud, the Daughter looked up from her papers to meet their eyes for the briefest of moments before rising and extending a polite hand. "Yes…yes, this is the girl," she murmured softly and walked around Alice, noting the pale features, regal expression, and casually swept back dark hair. Her appraising glance swept up her lithe body before continuing, "She is delicate, and I am not sure if she will be able to withstand our standards."

To this Alice raised her chin and replied, "I am sure that I will, First Daughter." She was resolute in her uncharacteristic intense gaze of confident youth, and so the Daughter was forced to switch subjects abruptly.

"Very well then," she replied testily, "you will find your belongings have already been brought up to your room, 39, on the second floor. Now, you may take some time in there to settle affairs, and before dinner you shall be introduced to the other novices." Then she nodded curtly, as if to say that no more of her time would be wasted, not at least in one afternoon.

Together the novice and the Goddess left the office, and the Goddess gazed down benevolently on the little girl for one final moment. Then she turned and swept away, her outline growing fainter and fainter until she had nearly disappeared as no mortals dared to try. She turned back only once, and even then, so briefly that no one was sure that it was not a simple change in gait. 

No one except for Kandella, who had been quietly standing with her ear to the door. "Goddess bless," she whispered with a mixture of awe and amazement. Kandella could have sworn she had seen the Goddess tilt her head to the side and give her a knowing smile.


	3. Chapter Three: The Other Girls

Chapter Three: The Other Girls

As Kandella led her up the stairs and around the courtyards, Alice began to feel distinctly bored through the older girl's chatter about nothing in particular. She rambled about the Temple, the Daughters, the life, and everything else on the top of her mind, so she was grateful when the numbers on the door grew larger until they reached "39". "Oh, look!" Kandella suddenly exclaimed. "My room's right next to yours—we'll be such good friends, won't we?"

Alice cocked her head skeptically before replying with an icily polite voice. "Er, of course we will. I'm Ali-Alceta of Deimos Point. And I really must get settled in now, thanks for your help."

"Not a problem at all! By the way, I'm Kandella of Piriole," she continued, "and I'll be in my room if you need me!" Without bothering to listen any more, Alice slipped the key into the lock, entered, and shut the door in a burst of impatience. Were these Tortallans all such intolerable fools, or had she merely been unlucky? She sighed and sat down on the bed, taking a moment to test it for comfort. It was soft enough, but perhaps too soft; no one back in the Academy slept on…what were they? Down mattresses? Her mind had made itself up concerning why the only two "people" she had met today both irritated her more than even Robert.

With the leaving of the Goddess, she supposed that she would be forced to remain here for a good few days, at the very least. And they all insisted on addressing her as Alceta, too. "Alice…Alceta," she mouthed softly. "Not a bad stretch at all, I must admit. So similar to Alcetis, wife of the king of Thrace in those myths, yet different." The girl stood up and, in a single calculating glance, appraised her new room to be the most comfortable place she had seen so far, though it was rather small. Light filtered in through the window, and there was a small writing desk beside the bed. If only she could be spared the others, life would be simple, yet boring. Then her expression turned cool and impassive; once more she held the bearing of queens.

A large, polished mahogany trunk sat at the foot of the bed. The corners were covered with a warm bronze, as was the latch and bindings. Alceta flipped open the top and began thumbing through the various garments and other supposed belongings, pausing to take out a brush and two twisted metal links that she recognized as a sort of toy that they even had in the Academy. She ran her hand over its smooth surface and began attempting to solve it just as the knocker sounded.

"Do come in," she muttered darkly, and after a few moments of silence, added, "I suppose." 

When the door opened, a maid stood before her with a neatly folded stack of white in her arms. "I'm Misa, and 'tis for you, m'lady. The tailor's got all them measurements for the dresses done already."

Alceta crossed the room quickly and accepted the pile of dresses, wrinkling her nose slightly at the stiffness of the starched fabric. She then cocked her head to meet the older girl's eyes. Frightened, almost, she noted. The "Tortallans" were a pathetic lot.

"Alceta's all you'll ever need," she drawled, not lifting her intense gaze for a single moment. "So, what else brings you to my newcomer's room?" Gesturing languidly at her plain room, her hands, for the first time, appeared to be an unearthly white, a white like the mists covering the grave.

The maid looked around nervously for a moment before continuing, "Well, I was about to tell you about the laundry and such."

"Then go on about the laundry already."

"Well," she smiled timidly, "you can't play tricks on the maids, or you'll be doing your own laundry for the year. The First Daughter also told me to take ye down to the healer's so they can check for a Gift. And that's about all, I s'ppose."

Still in breeches, Alceta nodded and shut the door. A few moments later she emerged in the white dress, with a blue sash tied around her waist and the skirt flaring outward unnaturally. They made their way downstairs together and in silence, and no matter what the cause, she was quite grateful. In fact, she was very grateful that Misa did not bother with chatter for the sake of making noise like Kandella did.

* * * * *

The convent healer was a gray-haired woman who looked to be in her fifties, but her wits and actions were as sharp as ever. Briskly she pulled Alceta in by the arm and lifted her chin until they were eye-to-eye; even though the healer was not tall, Alceta appeared to be smaller than most of the other future court beauties. She sent a wave of her own Gift to cover the girl, which was immediately repelled by a ring of blue-violet fire.

"By the Goddess," whispered the healer. "I don't think we've ever seen such a-"

"Seen what?"

Her expression immediately changed from shocked to stern, and she waggled a finger at Alceta. "Don't interrupt, it isn't becoming for a young lady. Now then, yes, yes, why don't you go back up to your rooms for a few hours, until dinner?"

The door opened once more, this time to reveal the woman known as the First Daughter. "Forgive me, Healer Ilia, but I don't believe that will be necessary. She needs to meet a few of the other girls as well, and I shall also give her a brief tour." After finishing, she took Alceta by the hand and swept down the hall, long robes barely flapping as she strolled. Then again, it was a form of art, especially in the Convent.

First Daughter Perlianne spoke as she walked, pointing out the classrooms, the dancing room, the tailor's, and a multitude of other places that new students would need to know. If it had not been for her ready memory, Alceta would have been hopelessly confused, but however, the Academy was even larger. They wound around the building until they had reached the sleeping rooms again. Here, Perlianne told her to wait for the appearance of the nearby girls and left to fetch them.

Once three other nine or ten-year-old girls had come out, the First Daughter gazed at Alceta and nodded expectantly until she said, "Alceta, of Deimos Point."

The girls looked at each other with a hint of confusion. Finally, the girl in the center spoke. "_Lady_ Taria of Delenny, pleased to meet you," she smiled falsely, and tossed a sheet of light brown hair over her shoulders.

"Lady Elise of Brielle, pleased to meet you," chirped a taller blonde.

On the right of Taria stood a third girl with flaming red curls. She glanced upward for a moment, then muttered sullenly, "Lady Carole of Sceeren."

"And she's pleased to meet you as well," snapped the First Daughter. "Now, who offers to be a guide for Lady Alceta for a few weeks?"

At this time, Kandella opened her door and ran out, golden waves bouncing on her shoulders. "I will, oh, First Daughter, I already even know her!"

Alceta was suddenly filled with a strong feeling of disgust and pity for these servile creatures, but it soon turned to self-remorse as she remembered that she was to stay here for an undetermined length of time. "I won't be needing a guide, thank you," she remarked with all the nonchalance and confidence she possessed.

The hallway silenced, and four pairs of eyes rested fearfully on the First Daughter. "Is that so?" she asked. "But you simply must, just like everyone else has before you. I repeat, who shall take on Lady Alceta?"

"I will." It was Carole, with an expression of defiance firmly carved onto her face. "And I will fulfill all the duties of doing so."

"I accept."

Perlianne saw and recognized the apathy in the new pair and the burning fury in the others, yet still she smiled. "Very well then. If you would all make yourselves ready for dinner then, half an hour at the most?"

Alceta and the others stared at her retreating back before snapping to the present. "Well, well, well, what a surprise," Taria smled again. "Turning down Kandella won't be forgotten." 

Carole rolled her eyes and allowed herself to be pulled into Alceta's room. "You're nearly ready, actually, just put on a decent pair of shoes and that's all. At first, it's not required to wear a formal dress." At the revolted look on her face, Carole continued, "Don't worry about it at all, that comes a little later. And Taria's distantly connected to the king's line, and that's the only reason anyone ever follows her around." She shrugged. "Well, I suppose I'll see you at dinner then. The first years are farthest from the entrance on the left side." Then she too exited, leaving Alceta to herself for a few brief moments of thought.

There goes one of them with any sense. Pity it has to be the outcast as well.

* * * * *

As she filed into the dining hall with the other first years, Alceta noticed that it was not as nearly as large as it had first appeared, nor as extravagant. But the plain wooden floors and long tables suited a convent, unlike the haughty attitudes of its occupants. She followed Carole, padding along in soft leather shoes, and fixed her attention on the First Daughter on the raised Table of Elders.

Once they had finished giving prayers, the girls picked up forks and used them to carefully jab at a slice of cucumber or meat and pop it into their mouths. Alceta did the same, trying to imitate their royal mannerisms and succeeding only in getting a soft laugh from Carole. Eating only a light salad and a slice of bread, she was soon finished with the dull china plate and sat back until they were dismissed. The roomful of girls rose to its feet like one, and slowly, began to walk out and back to the rooms upstairs.

"Don't worry," Carole whispered in Alceta's ear as they were walking. "You'll get used to it."

But lying on her bed, Alceta was by no means certain that she would ever get "used to it". She was not an idle little princess, but a mind of the future with a mission. In the darkness, she sat against the bedposts tinkering with the puzzle until the crescent moon formed a watery patch of light on the white bed.

At last, she slept.


	4. Chapter Four: Lessons

Chapter Four: Lessons

Alceta woke to the sparkling ring of bells at dawn, though it was quite obvious that few others had actually heard it. She rolled off her bed and changed into the uniform, leaving her light cotton bathrobe in a pile on the floor. On second thought, she picked it up and folded it neatly. There was no point in making more work for the maid, Misa, her name was.

Gazing outside her window, she watched as clouds of rose and gold drifted above the horizon, and after them, followed the sun in all of its dazzling majesty. Bright rays of light shone through the glass and came to rest at her feet, and Alceta smiled almost sentimentally. Her first sunrise in this new land-now all one needed to hope was that it would not be the most glorious of all to come.

But it was uninteresting, no, simply boring to sit alone. Soon she found herself riffling through coats and such in the vain effort to find an object of amusement, more so, a good book. There was none. The Mother Goddess had not found it fit to supply her with anything other than twisted metal.

At the sound of a knocking on the door, Alceta leaped off her bed and pulled half her hair into a loose but acceptable ponytail. When she opened the door, she found no one standing outside. Misa had come and gone silent as a mouse, leaving only a slip of paper behind.

_Lady Alceta of Deimos Point_, it read, _please find as follows your schedule for the forthcoming year._ She frowned but continued reading the note that dictated her life for a year, memorizing it well as so to make as few mistakes as possible.

The Golden Bells only signified that breakfast began in an hour and a half, at 7:00, so it had been pointless for her to actually get up then. After breakfast, which lasted for half an hour, and a half hour period of free time came the morning classes, which were in literature, history, and mathematics, the last of which she acknowledged with a raised brow. Lunch went from 12:00 to 12:30 in the dining hall and was commenced with a single toll of the Emerald Bell. Afternoon classes seemed to be the ones that she had wanted to avoid; every day, she was scheduled for an hour each of etiquette and sewing, of all things. The other two hours were filled by the cycling of dance, art, music, management of estates, and falconry or riding. At 5:30, the Ruby Bell sounded for dinner, and from 6:00 onward was free time, which she would doubtless occupy in her room alone. Then the Silver Bells would tinkle at 10:00 for lights out.

Alceta scowled at the innocuous-looking piece of paper that had "Idiocy" spelled all over it. Mornings would be acceptable, but there existed no point at all to spend an hour every day learning manners and how to make clothing. The same applied to dance and art, both of which she was certain she would be hopeless at, but to the others, she held no opinion. Music had been taught as a supplement to the sciences, since several studies had shown that it enhanced creative thinking, but dance and art simply took up too much room. As of falconry and riding, she simply viewed them as a chance to see a real falcon. But a 10:00 lights out was stupid, no, inane. The Daughters were forcing them to waste a good two hours of the day by extinguishing the lamps and candles, and even if they didn't view it as such, the mind was clearest late at night. Then again, "ladies" didn't use their minds much at any time of day but needed their rest early.

She solemnly vowed never to become a lady.

* * * * *

When chattering voices filled the hallway outside, Alceta shook the creases of her dress out and stepped outside into the cluster of first years, but they moved away farther down the corridor. Not knowing whether to believe that it was her presence or merely following each other down to the dining hall, she shrugged and trailed them at a healthy distance. She took a seat near the very end of the long table and ate a slice of scantily buttered toast in silence, carefully ignoring the others. They used a considerably longer amount of time for the first meal of the day than she had expected, but when the entire hall rose to its feet and prepared to exit, she tried to just blend in. There were more than enough girls so that the First Daughter would not notice a few seconds of delay on any one's part.

Literature, the first class of the day, was taught by a short, dumpy Daughter whose name Alceta never managed to hear and whose lessons she didn't bother to make any effort to comply with. Instead, she flipped the leather-bound book open to its table of contents and scoured it for any titles of interest. There didn't seem to be any, and even if there were, the font was much too embellished for her to read any of it. Pity that no temporary hideaway existed in the books of Tortall.

Her brief moments of discovery were interrupted by the Daughter when she snapped the command to begin reading on page…what was it? Soft giggles sprung up throughout the room, deliberately evading her watchful eyes. Alceta ignored them with a stony expression on her face and frantically leafed through the book until she found a page that seemed remotely like what they had been reading before.

"But not all had been vanquished in the final assault," she said in her clearest, most exact speaking voice, "for there was a survivor lying in the ashes. His name was—"

"That's quite enough," snapped the Daughter. "Chapter Two of _The Briar Rose_, if you please. And see me after class for punishment work. The Daughters aim to instruct you in respect, humility, and _attentiveness_, no matter where you have come from."

The faintest of blushes surfaced on her cheeks, an occurrence Alceta was completely unfamiliar with. She had no choice but to read more, so she continued, "On a hill to the far, far West stood a lonely stone castle. Though the villagers had never seen the inside of the castle, nor even seen who lived inside it, they were forced to pay taxes yearly and—"

"Now, girls, who can tell me why the villagers wouldn't be happy?" For some reason, perhaps the stupidity of the readers, the black and white robed Daughter felt it necessary to interrupt at any given point. But there was a smattering of raised hands, and she smiled in approval. "Saira of Leewayrd?"

"Because we nobles were overtaxing the poor peasants, and we must always be considerate of our servants."

Alceta barely suppressed a sneer at the girl's obviously well rehearsed response but decided not to add her own comments. For one, whoever said that they were overtaxed? As anyone with sense knew, the lower classes needed someone to help them make decisions, and that someone had to be paid, hence taxes. It was a very fair bargain after all; the plebes supplied the leaders with money, who would in turn protect them fairly but sternly. The system insured the survival of both parties, and survival mattered more than anything else. Love, hatred, loyalty—what were they? Who would be loving or loyal when they were starving or dying of radiation poisoning? The Convent was a joke compared to the Academy, she thought. Even though she had not been a major in politics, all the students were given some instruction, and that was proving to be a decent education after all. Nations needed to be governed with the utmost of dispassion; if emotions and personal beliefs were mixed in there, the state was doomed to fall. Under this train of thought, Tortall was already gone if their literature was an accurate reflection upon the actual society.

The teacher droned on and on until finally Literature became History, not that she really noticed for a few minutes. But the Daughter in charge of this class was young and obviously fresh, since she had just the trace of life still in her. As she accepted a book of Tortall's past, Alceta even managed to give her a tiny smile in return.

She found that while just as strict as the others, Daughter Vallya could also be dramatic and entertaining. She swept around the small classroom exuding radiant energy, and the sunlight caught on the blond coifs on either side of her head and gave them a vibrant sheen. Her voice ranged from melancholy to stern to exuberant all in one sentence, for she enjoyed not questioning the reading and writing abilities of her new student, who in fact, could read and write on what was considered an alpha level, but simply talking about the pain and love that Tortall was founded upon. Though Alceta knew nothing about this foreign nation and saw the Daughter waltz out of the room without knowing any other rigid facts, she was perfectly happy in that there was at least one teacher who could teach.

Mathematics, discovered the girl, was a waste of time in this strangely backward land. Many of her year mates, including, not surprisingly, Taria and Elise, could barely do simple arithmetic. To the rest of the class the Daughter assigned a set of elementary algebra problems. Alceta had learned those concepts during her first year in the Academy, and she finished them in a few minutes.

"Have you completed the problems already?" she asked sharply. "Let me see." The Daughter pursed her lips and snatched the sheet of parchment without waiting for any response. Scanning the answers, she grudgingly admitted that all were correct and assigned the next page to be completed for tomorrow Alceta merely nodded but refused to do any more work for the present time. 

Her skills were absolutely useless here, she realized with a pang of disappointment. No one understood or needed to understand differential algebra or string theory, and she had spent her entire life as of yet studying the abstract in order to apply them to the technology of the city. But in this place, no one knew what technology was or even thought about it; they were all wrapped up in a cocoon of ignorance. And Alceta pitied them for their stupidity, yet envied them for their acceptance of the world.

Lunch consisted of small sandwiches, and afterwards, the girls walked to the other side of the Temple for afternoon classes. In Etiquette, the First Daughter's assistant outlined the entire course of study in a single minute and explained how they were to "conduct themselves like the court ladies they were" at all times. Then she demonstrated the ideal posture of standing. They were expected to raise their heads, pull back the shoulders slightly, and position their feet in such a way that they would neither topple over nor give the impression of a coarse village wench.

Just as she had expected, the entire class was a time dedicated to behaving like a useless priss. Sewing was little better even though the instructor was old, wrinkled, and generally incapable of doing any teaching. As they began their first needlepoint, that of a single rose, Alceta learned that she could thread a needle and tie a knot, but for all her efforts, the fine embroidery silk insisted on tangling itself.

"Having a good time yet?" whispered a dry voice in her ear. She turned to find a mass of red curls bouncing just above her line of vision. Of course, it would be Carole, her outcast mentor.

"Of course I am," she responded with just as much sarcasm. "In fact, I'm wondering why I got sent here and _agreed _in the first place."

"Good," Carole smiled wickedly. "Because the First Daughter's pet teaches dancing, and the seamstress Daughter does art too."

SilverKnight7: Thanks for being my first reviewer, and the response to your question is that "All shall be revealed in good time." :P

Helsuzaba: Thanks for reviewing too. Alice/Alceta doesn't question anything because at the time, she was too shocked to ask. At first she tried to decline since she was given the choice, but if it's the Goddess, choices generally don't matter very much. It also has to do with the atmosphere at the Academy, which will come up from time to time. As of right now, she knows that she's in a place called Tortall but not that she has any special abilities or what her future is. Hope that clarifies a few points :-) 

I have another chapter waiting…so the more people review, the sooner it'll be up.

And happy Festivus for the rest of us!


	5. Chapter Five: Disloyalty

Chapter Five: Disloyalty

The cool evening air flowing through the Temple compensated for all its many faults, including but not limited to candles, "ladies", and Daughters. Almost, but not quite content and carefree, Alceta walked through the familiar hallways as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run. For that, the rigidly old-fashioned Daughters would most likely assign some new, just as outdated form of punishment. And none of the girls wanted to get their gorgeous white skirts dirty.

She jammed a sliver of metal into the lock on her door and twisted it until the pins clicked and the clasp was released. There was skill in her fingers yet, she smiled approvingly, that had not yet been robbed by the prick of needles. Obviously the lock on her own door was but a starting point from where she could continue if a need arose.

Letting her slender body fall onto the down mattresses, Alceta picked up a book and carelessly flipped through crisp white pages until she found the chapter titled "The Scanran Wars". The barbarians still fought wars against each other, and in this she was amused. Civilization had given up warfare decades ago for the greater good, except perhaps in economics or sciences. And that had been her role in life.

* * * * *

After knocking softly and receiving no response, Carole glided into Alceta's room and frowned at her relaxed posture. "You do know what they would say," she shook her head mockingly, "And you'd do better to avoid it."

Alceta sat bolt upright and looked upon her mentor in her sky blue eyes. "And so what if I do?" she demanded. "I'd lock my room…if I didn't know it was you."

"Of course." Carole cracked into a grin and clapped her pale hands together. "Anyway, I was wondering if you could help me with the mathematics, seeing you're the only one who understands any of it."

"But of course," Alceta curtsied haughtily, "I would be most pleased." She swept her skirt out and placed the papers on her desk, which was cluttered with quills, parchment, a multitude of books, and the metal puzzle. "Now, it's all about what you define the variable to be…"

* * * **

Half an hour later, she lay on her bed in the same posture as before, straight black hair swept over her face. Without thinking she gently blew the strands away and tucked them behind her ears. While Carole had left with a greater understanding of mathematics, she had been left with an overwhelming hunger for more. More than the Convent or anyone else here could give her. She wanted to see the Bertair supercomputers again, but even to be faced with the classic differentials would suffice. They would somehow inspire her to greatness, Alceta was sure, and it would be a greatness that no one had seen for ten years.

Alas, the future was gone and her pale features were molded into impassivity once more.

Soon she became restless and decided to begin the assignments, but when she reached for the mathematics, her hands gripped empty air. Alceta pressed her lips together, trying to remember why she would have placed it somewhere else. "Never would I…" she mused, and then jumped off the bed hastily. "Carole."

At first, she had expected to be able to find the girl's room quickly, but an unexpected facet of Convent life arose that she could not ignore. It would be socially, as well as emotionally, unacceptable to simply knock on doors until she chanced upon the right one. Each door was identical; the grain of the wood was perfectly even, and machines could have made the brass horseshoe doorknockers. And all were shut as well. 

Alceta resigned herself to wandering up and down the hall while hoping for one of the doorways to open and a familiar redhead to pop out when a soft shriek sounded in one of the rooms and a horrified girl, apparently Kandella, dashed out. Curiously she entered but stepped back in confusion. There stood Carole, holding a half-filled glass of water in one hand, and around her were Taria and Elise, along with others whom she did not recognize. Yet no blood or any other bodily fluid had been spilled, and as far as she could see, nothing had been broken or damaged. But that was before Taria began her angry tirade.

"You clumsy little dolt," she snarled with none of her characteristic grace, "I don't know what in the Goddess's name made you do that. We came in minding our own business—"

"And you go and dump that cup of water right over Kandella," chimed in Elise, hands on her hips and furiously glaring at Carole, who couldn't seem to decide whether to shrink away and run or glare right back. Elise, however, complemented Taria so well that they could have been trained to support each other in times of need…or times of verbal assault.

The gentle smile on the brunette's face only outlined the thoughts that were running through her shallow but devious mind. "But of course, we won't report you for this. Just know that if it happens again, you'll be evicted from the Convent like you've always wanted too." Taria paused a moment, as if she were contemplating another matter entirely, like the star of a child-actress she had become in a single week. "And I think you should give me a gift for my kindness," her fingers trailed the edge of the writing desk, "like the book and assignments in mathematics?" They rested upon the heavy volume gracefully, and Alceta suddenly recognized it and stepped farther into the room.

"I do believe that would be mine," she remarked, extending a hand and waiting for the cool weight to fall upon it. 

Though Taria was reluctant to give it up, she eventually slipped it into Alceta's waiting grasp. Alceta eyed them coolly, but without another word, turned her back, pointedly ignoring Carole's pleading expression that soon turned to resignation, and then an indescribable, primeval dagger-glare. No one had the right to expect such an alliance with her, especially not so soon…

* * * * *

Leaning against a wall outside, Alceta affixed her gaze to the closed door and folded her hands nervously. Presently, Taria shut the door behind her with a smug smile on her face that evaporated as soon as she spotted the dark-haired girl watching from the corner. Eyes met, neither willing to look away, until Taria finally spoke.

"Is there something you wish of me, Miss," she emphasized delicately, with the hint of a mocking sneer, "Alceta?"

"Merely a proposition, if you will," Alceta replied just as lightly and artificially. "Shall we seek the privacy of a room?" Taria spun around and opened her door just enough to enter. Instead of offering a chair, she stood with a hand on the doorknob, as though she were eager to fling this intruder out.

"Speak then, of this proposition."

"Quite simply, it comes to this. You have a weakness in mathematics," she ignored Taria's impatient foot-tapping, "and I would offer to give my personal experience in that subject for some knowledge of yours." Pausing for a moment, Alceta gave her a shy smile. "You could help me pick a dress for the celebration of the Equinox."

Taria crossed her arms behind her back and considered it for a few seconds. When she looked up again, the expression on her china features was uncertain. "Then never mind," shrugged Alceta. "We have never met in private, remember." She turned the handle of the door and nearly stuck a foot outside when Taria, who was a few inches taller, laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I never said no, did I?' she mused. "Consider us…close acquaintances, then. But don't go around telling people," she hurriedly continued, "since we're not allowed to ask for answers."

"Not a chance," Alceta smiled happily, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. Yet when she turned around to leave, she wore a satisfied, not delighted smile.

* * * * *

Three long days and nights had passed since she had assumed a new identity in a new world, but Alceta could not and would not forget her past. The very sensation of light cotton swishing against her legs as she strolled reminded her daily that she was _la fremulo_, the foreigner; if she wasn't one, she never would have noticed. In spite of the constant internal unease, she had quickly learned to be like the other noble girls, to imitate the way they spoke, to join their noisy gossip sessions and at the same time, to maintain a cool, composed wall to the outside.

Or so she thought.

But court life, even at such a strict, simplistic place as the Temple of the Goddess, was not an exact science. Scandals and heroics abounded, as well as secret dealings and quiet kills. Always one could find an opportunity or a pitfall, and both were reflected in Carole's puzzled blue eyes…

AN: The words in italics are in Esperanto, the international language. I thought it would be appropriate for her to know that since she is from the future of one world, one nation…there'll be more of that later on.

l8er

-cybErdrAgOn


	6. Chapter Six: Equinox

Chapter Six: Equinox

The Mid-autumn Festival was one of four throughout the year dedicated to the seasons and the gods, as the First Daughter explained at dinner one evening. In the morning, all the Convents and Monasteries emptied out into the streets to visit their patron gods' and goddesses' Temples in the City of the Gods. After the prayers had been said, the girls of the Goddess-on-Earth returned to prepare for a night of festivities in the Temple of Mithros, since summer and fall were designated as His seasons.

"And finally," the First Daughter clasped her hands together, soft candlelight shimmering on her golden robes, "you will all be required to don both formal dresses and your most cultured, gracious manners." She nodded once and waved them out after her customary dinner speech. "That is all, and may the Goddess smile down upon you this fine evening."

Excited chattering bubbled up from the rapidly congesting hallways; even the youngest girls had known of this event weeks before it was formally announced. Besides that it was the first of the rare celebrations in the Convent, they all jumped at the chance to flaunt their dresses to the others. The official game and competition among the noble girls involved a display of clothing, manners, and charm. Once they were sent to the palace to find husbands, the three areas of expertise became vitally important.

Yet the royal palace was probably the only place where such trivial skills mattered. In the manors of their husbands, the ladies wasted their time on more sewing and primping themselves for the next ball; afterwards, it was all forgotten. They lived lives without meaning and left no impact upon anyone except perhaps the families they were expected to raise. And after the initial shock, their husbands would often simply find another wife to replace the old.

Alceta sighed as the crowd of girls swept her along back to the dormitories. They _wanted _to be meaningless and empty-headed, and she desperately hoped their influence wasn't seeping into her.

* * * * *

The week passed in a flurry of activity. Eventually, the level of discord rose so high that most Daughters assigned "Critical Reading" at the beginning of a class to be elaborated upon during their next meetings. But in each class, the passages were identical and consisted of a few lines about the gods and goddesses of Tortall. The noble-bred girls invariably knew the information without cracking open a single book, so they gradually gravitated around a few desks to share party gossip. It was another cultivated skill, one that the youngest girls had already mastered.

At first, Alceta too had joined in the chattering. Soon, however, the topics began to repeat, centering around dresses and court life. By etiquette, she appeared no longer interested and remained at her own desk to extract more implied information about Tortallan history and society from the texts. They claimed to be impartial, but the author had obviously emphasized stability of ruling families and strength of warriors above all else.

That was all she gleaned from one chapter, and she nudged the book aside and reached for one with a much thinner spine. It was a journal by one of the royal children during the parents' reign and would provide an insider's account of court politics. Satisfied, Alceta flipped open the soft cover; inside, she found herself looking through the eyes of a Conté prince no older than herself.

Skirts rustled and slippers shuffled by her. A figure less slender than the nameless future "Lady" bent over her head and stared at the back of her neck, casting a long shadow over the pages of the book. She refused to give any sign of acknowledgement, instead pretending to be immersed in the story of how Prince Roald nearly chose magic over knighthood. The two girls waited in silence, both patient, neither willing to cross the invisible barrier. 

Finally a husky, stiff voice spoke.

"Good afternoon, Lady Alceta."

A glimpse of carrot top curls and a creamy complexion lightly sprinkled with freckles as she turned nearly brought a mixture of relief and disappointment to her face. Attempting to apologize and ruining her plans.

Alceta quickly slapped on the cool benevolence she wore when officials visited the Academy's laboratories and stood. "My pleasure, and the same to you, Lady Carole," she replied mildly.

"Thank you kindly," smiled Carole. "How have you been as of late?" Her expression was genuinely concerned, but Alceta sensed more—was it jealousy, perhaps? Or irritation?

"Fine, as always, and you?"

Formalities, rules, and etiquette were seriously blocking any point Alceta wanted to make. Any moment now, she thought, and if there's no straight answer, I'll ask a straight question. She pulled her hair back and returned the smile; first, her acquaintance deserved a chance.

"The same." Carole waved a hand. "Well then, wonderful speaking to you, and I shall see you soon." Suppressing a snarl of frustration, Alceta looked on as she began to walk away. But she stopped in mid-step, and her sky blue eyes clouded over. "Why," she asked in a low, hurt whisper, "did you do that?"

She sounded like a little girl who wanted to know why animals were killed and why they were cut apart for the biology experiments. So the façade had been dropped and the real points addressed. Unable to immediately register the significance of her words, Alceta blinked rapidly and frowned. She ran through all of their encounters and experiences mentally. There was the first meeting, then classes, followed by the water incident—

That which is in plain sight is least obvious, she thought, raising a dark brow that appeared as a fine brushstroke across her pale features. Carole was simplistic and a bit naïve, but not stupid. She wanted to know the meanings of actions; she was willing to be petulant and irritating. A few days of tension were coming, and this time, she could not avoid the question. 

Alceta sighed. As much as she would have liked, she found it nearly impossible to put on the pitied, weakling expression that would fool people. "Give me time, and I'll explain," she said quietly, averting her gaze from a pair of confused and saddened pale blue eyes.

"How much more time do you want?" Carole stomped on the ground and glared at Alceta. "It's been a week already!"

Fortunately, the Daughter had not yet noticed the commotion at the back of the room. Wary of causing any more trouble after the water and the reading incident, Alceta said pleadingly, "Just two more days. Surely you can wait?"

"Of course she can wait," Taria cut in sweetly. "We have to pick a dress for you tonight, don't we?" Then she turned to Carole. "As for you, I'm sure the Daughters have something that doesn't have a waist, either, like a feed sack from the stables, perhaps?" She grinned wickedly.

"Don't look at me like, Alceta dear! We're going to have a most wonderful time tomorrow night," exclaimed Taria, and her eyes widened with a dreamy anticipation.

* * * * *

 An orange sun cast its rays of light from the horizon, coloring the lowest clouds bold streaks of gray and rose and signaling the double columns of Convent girls to open the gates. Led by the First Daughter, robes reflecting the dawn as they gently swirled around her unyielding figure, they glided down the pathway to the Temple of Mithros. The Hag-Mother limped after the oldest girls; with her black garb and clawed hands, she was both the oldest and one of the most respected in the Convent, not to mention the one who frightened newcomers and adjusted residents alike. But that didn't stop anyone from mocking her from a distance.

As one, the girls knelt before the white marble altar and murmured their prayers for a happy season to come. Alceta followed her year mates but could not suppress a frown; she did not worship this Mithros. She refused to worship anyone at all, even as she bowed her head and silently mouthed the words.

"May Mithros grant Tortall a joyous autumn," chanted the head Priest and the First Daughter.

"May Mithros grant Tortall a joyous autumn," they repeated, a dull wave of voices spreading through the un-walled room.

And it continued in a similar fashion for a few hours, interrupted at times by the full, rich bugle of horns and once, a strum of a lute. Finally grapes, apples, and other fruits were brought to the priest and priestess's feet and arranged in a ring around them. They stood, faces shining, and continued without a trace of uncertainty, brilliant and strong.

"And bestow His blessings to the harvests,"

"And bestow His blessings to the harvests,"

"Giving strength to the warriors of Tortall."

"Giving strength to the warriors of Tortall."

The tall figures standing on the very steps of the raised platform inclined their heads simultaneously and smiled.

"Amen."

"Amen." 

They remained silent until the Priest and Daughter stepped apart to reveal the sacrificial torch, elevated above the dais. Together, they turned away from the girls and subordinates and raised their hands to shoulder level. With what seemed to be an excruciating effort, they moved backward one step, and the fire was lit. 

The flames burning bright on the torch, which was held by both Mithran Priest and Daughter of the Goddess, awakened the gathering, stirred them from their respectful trance. Once the torch had been planted in the center of the ring where man and woman had stood, they walked off the dais. In a white and golden sea the worshippers rose to their feet, divided only by the cleared aisle that separated the colors. The girls departed silently; as they exited the temple and the sunlight shone in her eyes, Alceta realized that the entire morning had passed.

It was funny how words could control. It was a lesson she had picked up from a ceremony to honor the god of war, not speech and trickery.

* * * * *

Back inside the Convent, Alceta immediately headed for her chamber, closing and locking the door after Taria entered. On the instruction of the more experienced girl, Alceta flipped open the lid of her trunk and began to lay the formal dresses on the bed. Though she herself brushed them by carelessly, they elicited envious squeals from Taria.

She unfolded a dress made of pale rose silk and held it up. "This is absolutely gorgeous," she remarked, her voice tinged with envy. "Try it on, will you?" 

Alceta rolled her eyes at the puffy, laced sleeves that somehow looked too wide at the top and too tight to slip her arm into. Of all the stupidity…she shrugged mentally, resolving to improve the situation with the useless dress.

"You know, if you like it, do you want to have it?" she said kindly, and of course, falsely.

Taria smiled, a gentle upward curve of her lips. "Really?" Before Alceta could agree, she continued, "Oh, thank you ever so much! But now we've got to choose something for you, don't we?"

Together they shook out the dozen dresses that the Goddess had packed. Alceta was difficult to please; on every item she found a flaw. This one had too low a neckline, that one wouldn't fit, and so on she pushed them away. The ones that she accepted, Taria simply refused to allow her to wear, claiming that it "ruins your lovely figure". Finally, she suggested that perhaps she simply wouldn't attend the celebrations tonight…it wasn't worth the effort.

"What? You can't do that!" Shocked, Taria stared at her recent acquaintance, momentarily disregarding all rules of etiquette. "It's the first event of the year, and you can't just—"

"Of course I can," retorted Alceta, now visibly annoyed. She sighed and held another dress up. "How's this one, then?"

"Well, I suppose it's all right…"

"Then it's the one," she said firmly and shoved the other skirts back into her trunk before Taria could protest. "Ok, what else?"

"There's hair, but the older girls have face paint and jewelry too," she replied knowledgably, though she was not much older. "And if you want, we could borrow a better pair of shoes…"

Alceta shook her head. "No, hair's necessary of course, and my slippers are fine." Just like the natural color of my face, she added silently. "But could you help me pick a hair band? To go with the dress?"

"Of course…that's what I'm here for!"

"Then I'll see you once I organize all this again?"

There was a slightly embarrassed lull in the conversation, and Alceta and Taria both turned around. Taria returned to her chambers; after a few minutes, she rapped on the door to be allowed in.

"Yes?" Alceta slipped on her shoes and viewed herself critically.

Taria gasped. "You look beautiful, absolutely stunning, and would anyone ever have guessed?"

"Are you sure?" 

"But of course! If you're going to keep staring at that mirror, why not look at yourself?"

In the mirror was the reflection of a skinny nine-year-old fitted in a dress of forest green velvet and silk, much too extravagant for such a plain-looking girl. The sleeves extended to her wrists, soft and sleek, and the single skirt puffed out a few inches from her feet. She wrinkled her pointed nose, turning to the right and left before finally nodding in consent.

"Now, what did I say?" said Taria triumphantly. "And as for head bands…" her slender hands brushed over the assortment of accessories on the desk, "I think the thin green one will do quite nicely. It matches your dress." She added that as an afterthought.

Pushing the ribbon up into her hair, Alceta smiled and adjusted the light so that the satin gleamed like a palm frond nestled in raven locks. "You look wonderful too in pink—did you manage that hair all by yourself?"

Taria tucked a dark chestnut curl behind her ear, careful to accent the way they fell on her shoulders and bounced lightly. Instead of answering, she gave Alceta a knowing look and practiced strolling around the room in exhibition fashion. One foot placed delicately before the other, again and again. Pivot on the leading foot. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders as she reached the end of the bed, inclining her head slightly at an imaginary figure waiting in front.

She was royalty for anyone who didn't know otherwise; Alceta was simply a noble girl trying to make her way in the world.

* * * * *

The Mithran priest led the room in an endless prayer, dedicating the feast to the gods with wildly waving arms and a baritone voice that alternated between a whisper and a roar. Between bowing his partly shaved head and shouting words of praise, he bobbed up and down on the dais, which seated the First Daughter as well as other important visitors who happened to be passing through. Taria and Elise, who had retained her bubbly nature, had to work hard to stifle high giggles, in turn making Alceta smirk inwardly at their empty heads. Clueless as always, and she would be cutting ties soon…much too soon for their liking. Then again, how much payback could anyone expect for advice on the dress?

Clapping his hands together before his chest, the priest ended his speech with an "Amen". Slowly, the silence evaporated and led to endless streams of chatter tinkling in many directions around the room. Again, he waved for quiet. The words stopped flowing.

The members of the high table raised their goblets, followed by the rest of the room. A hundred cups of burgundy and vermilion glowed in the dimming sunlight; then they sank to gently puckered lips. They drank to Mithros and a fruitful harvest, and the clink of glass upon wood was the only sound to so much as crack that moment of silence.

Little by little, the guests began to speak once more, though the volume was rather subdued. Alceta turned her attention to the platters of food sitting on the table and carefully took a slice of cheese and a few salad greens. Poking at her plate with a three-tined fork, she bit off tiny pieces of lettuce and chewed them slowly to make it last as long as possible. After another half hour or so, the fruit would be served, which she looked forward to. Even if the priests only served apples, it was better than…than this stuff.

"Have you tried the roast pork yet?" inquired Taria, gesturing towards a plate of sizzling meat.

Alceta blinked rapidly, stirred out of her reveries, and quickly replied, "No thank you, I don't generally eat meats. Salad and cheese is more than enough."

"Then m'lady," a nervous servant boy offered quietly, "there's some soups o'er there, and iff'n ye don't mind me sayin' so, the baked taters smell awf'ly good from down 'ere."

She gazed at his scrawny figure curiously, but within seconds, he had scurried back to the kitchens out of sight. Shaking her head, Alceta plucked a potato quarter and smeared it with a pat of yellow butter. It had been cooked to perfection, simple and light enough to almost melt in her mouth as she chewed. She resolved to give blessings upon the cook if ever she chanced to meet him.

Her stomach full and her mind drowsy from the constant din, she was vaguely aware of a small group of musicians rising from their seats near the back of the room. They broke into a few common tunes, each blending into the next until the music began to die away altogether. Applauding sleepily, the audience drank to them as well and then called up a soloist from the ranks of the priests.

Despite his unwillingness, the priest was a talented instrumentalist who knew just how to stroke the strings of his lute to draw out tunes that stirred and soothed something deep within the human heart. The wild, rustic melody cleared her head, shook her hazy mind awake. It flowed from sashaying rushes brushing past each other in a storm, to the groans of ancient oaks creaking with the weight of the centuries, to the howls and barks of wolf-dogs running through a field. Despite the knowledge that people were watching, Alceta rose from the bench and wove through the throngs of guests, walking closer and closer to the musician. There was something about the music—his very being, even—that drew her in, made logic irrelevant in comparison to instinct and belief.

He smiled patronizingly down at her, and imperceptibly, the middle-aged priest shifted forms into that of a tall warrior clad in shining metal armor and grasping the jeweled hilt of a sword.

"Can you not guess who I am?" he chuckled. "Foolish mortals…"

"Mithros," she breathed quietly after gazing into his blinding brightness for a period of time. "God of the sun, of fighters, and kings."

The god nodded. "You learn quickly for a foreigner, but some say not quickly enough."

"Who?" Her eyes flashed menacingly, daring someone to repeat it.

"Alas for that, I do not remember—we Immortals cannot trouble ourselves with your day-to-day matters, Alceta of Deimos Point."

Alceta clenched her hands into fists and relaxed them one by one, each finger resisting to be straightened to the end. "Gods forget too?" she asked coolly. "Then I suppose mortals must be allowed some leeway as well."

"Haharr!" The Graveyard Hag cackled gleefully and waggled a bony finger at Mithros, who glared at her withered form patronizingly. "You were right, sirree, she learns quick enough! Say, lass, would you like to make a deal with me, perhaps?"

The gaps between Alceta and the two gods quickly vanished as figure after figure appeared, some smiling, others frowning down at her. A few she recognized, but the majority of the gods were unknown. She ignored them and faced the hag.

"Since it seems that I have a deal running with the Mother Goddess, it would not be wise to take on another so soon. And as for you, Mithros," she rounded on the knight-god, "is there more you have to say? Or is this a trip to fool with your precious mortals?"

He hit the ground with the sword and bellowed, "I'll have no mortal trifling with me! And you'll miss out on the message as well, I'm afraid." A devious grin quite unlike his kingly face appeared. "So are you of like mind, to hear that for which I have been sent?"

Alceta nodded, a glower still apparent.

"The Mother Goddess sends her regards, as well as the words that 'You are destined for more than this life'. And that is all." Mithros sheathed his weapon and eyed her suspiciously. "Return to your seat now," he commanded, "before the others awaken."

And he and the other gods were gone.

Turning around for the first time since she had been summoned, she watched in wonder as the girls sat on the benches, not moving a single hair. "Frozen in place…" she whispered to herself and skittered back to the empty spot by Taria as quickly as she could in a wide dress that threatened to trip her by the ankles. As soon as her trembling hand touched the fork, the room returned to life. No one gave any mention that they had sat motionless for ten minutes at the very least.

"Hasn't the Festival been simply wonderful so far?" A high-pitched voice cut into Alceta's thoughts, ruthlessly breaking her moment of contemplation.

"Of course, Elise," she replied. "Would you mind if I left for a moment—just to get a breath of air?" Without waiting for a response, since the room had many openings and incomplete walls, she stood up and swung her legs over the bench. Avoiding them was more like it.

Alceta wandered toward the entrance of the hall, where the priest had been playing minutes ago. No one barred the way between Temple and grounds now, and she slipped outside. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving minute traces of its fiery presence behind. She ambled by the wall casually, focused on the silhouette of a bird in flight when a rough hand slammed into her mouth. At the same time, a tiny dagger whipped out against her neck.

"Don't you think about kicking or biting," growled a voice, "or you're going to the King right now."

AN: That was a nice long chapter to make up for my absence, though you shouldn't expect too much due to High Tech High School. Reviews, anyone? They would be rather nice too…


	7. Chapter Seven: Misunderstood

Chapter Seven: Misunderstood

Panic. Focus. Think.

The AI instructors, more efficient than any mere human, had drilled that into their heads so often until it had become fact. But more than fact—it was pure instinct. Despite the boredom of repetition, which they never experienced elsewhere, they learned the lessons quickly. Government officials who spent millions of dollars on a few children with talent simply refused to risk the destruction of their facilities due to a single child who froze during an emergency. Anyone who couldn't learn well enough left.

Alceta forced herself to halt her breathing for a count of ten and felt the hand on her face slowly withdraw. She held still, heart quieting to a faint pattering, until a shadow circled around her as if by a silent magic. Then the blade at her throat snaked away reluctantly, and she knew that it was just a common mugger. Someone out for blood would have cut the jugular seconds ago.

"Greetings, Lady Alceta Athanasius of Deimos Point," the cloaked figure drawled. Instinctively Alceta felt something was wrong, oxymoronic, but could not pinpoint what. So she settled for a similar reply.

"Greetings, stranger."

Light, tinkling laughter rang in the air, and in that instant, she remembered the name of the nagging suspicion. "I've come a long way to meet you, and 'stranger' is not a proper greeting."

"Child, stop the games," muttered Alceta. She was speaking to someone who seemed little older than she was, possibly even younger. The little boy couldn't fool anyone with that lilting voice. Just the sinusoidal trills of the speaking and the chortling reminded her of the gutter children, the ones that they all claimed did not exist. They were not bad, exactly, but they lingered as an ugly remnant of the families that needed to be killed before the Commonwealth was erected. The ordinary citizen was pleased to walk about his daily business while conveniently ignoring their presences. He had no interest in their daily misfortunes.

But that tone…that cockney speech, or rather lack thereof, held different implications. City lads who ran about the streets generally had not mastered the art of clean speech by that age, if ever. He could have passed for a researcher's child, save the constant fit of laughs.

"Tell me who you are…if you please," she added quickly.

"Me?" An arm reached up and whipped off the hood. Even in the darkness, Alceta could just barely make out a saucy, upturned nose and unusually white teeth that no nobles possessed. But that was possibly because they did not bother to clean them. "I am somebody, except to you."

The voice had lost its clipped tone, though she suspected that the introductions were memorized, not improvised. "Remember this face, 'cause you'll be seeing it again!" Then came a giggle. "The Sik-Rah wanted to know what you looked like, so I think that's done. You'd never _guess _at how much the Sik-Rah is interested, never, never, never, not in a thousand seasons! But no one ever knows," came the words in a dramatic whisper, "until he tells you. And then—SMACK! He's got you right where he wants you."

Folds of fabric fluttered before her eyes as the child whirled around. "So see you again later, Lady Alceta."

Just as fast as the dark cloaked had appeared, it melted into the shadows of the night and the shade of gardens and columns. For a moment Alceta stood rooted to the ground, a torrent of thoughts swimming through her head. Who wanted her? More importantly, she narrowed her eyes at a light in the distance, _who knew of her?_

Suddenly the air felt chilly blowing against her sweaty neck, and she wandered back towards the dining hall where the celebrators had just begun to sing the Chorals of Harvest. Lusty men and stern women belted out the lyrics; Alceta joined them in a much softer, shakier voice. She tried to shrug off the odd little encounter, dismissing it as pure chance. At any rate, Taria dearest did not need to find out how easily her once steely nerves had been shaken. But the sooner the party was over, the better. A period of quiet reflection would be most useful.

For the remainder of the festival, she hung around the shadowed corners listening to snippets of conversation and pondering the events that she had just experienced. When the First Daughter finally motioned the Convent girls to follow, Alceta smiled tiredly and trotted along, anticipating a night and morning for herself.

* * * * *

A familiar setting was comforting indeed, from the stark, unbleached walls to the lone ray of golden light streaming into through the window. Always accustomed to rising early, Alceta had already put on the required uniform and was sitting at her desk, a small pile of papers before her. Slender fingers flew through the stack, sending up a flurry of dust that had somehow accumulated over six or seven hours of sleep.

And then she scowled.

Bartering scholarly work, no matter how dull, as she readily admitted, for party services was unthinkable. By the Lady, Taria the dunce did need to _learn_, did she not? Though Alceta despised work devised for the sole purpose of occupying minds with a vehement passion, she did find the need to explain to others how often they were wrong. They were unwilling to spend the least bit of time to think, or to wonder, or to dream of what they could never accomplish. Fools, the lot.

But an agreement was an agreement. Countless times she had attempted to change Taria's mind, and countless times she had been silenced with a wave of the hand or a quick bob of her empty head. As she thumbed through the battered pages of the girl's mathematics textbook, a question that had been hovering in the back of her mind weighed heavily. 

_Why should I do this?_

To that, she had no real, logical, forceful answer. Hell, she had no answer for why she was trapped in a forsaken Convent, or why she had agreed to the entire situation in the first place. The Goddess had claimed that the choice was hers, but as if she could be believed. Choices did not exist when dealing with so-called higher beings. Therefore, she had no choice but to choose whether to—_oh, forget it all_. Alceta thought herself lucky if she could simply find a form of intellectual stimulation, not social stimulation. Her abilities were rather lacking in that area. But still she smirked.

* * * * *

Carole of Sceeren carefully laid her hand on the brass doorknob, a marvelous contraption designed to allow insiders to enter and to keep intruders out. Being a noble-bred girl, she of course was uninterested in the finer workings of the entrance to Alceta's room; those ruminations were better left to lower mages and architects. She did concern herself with creating lasting bonds with her peers, however, and it tended to draw her into the oddest of situations.

Such as now, as she nibbled on her fingernails, running a mental debate as to whether or not to knock before entering, entering before knocking, or not to enter, and thus, not to knock. If only she knew how to approach the other girls, and if only she knew how to approach her own steaming indignity at the list of endless wrongs, she would be fine. The Noble Lady Carole of Sceeren, as they would call her, would glide down the hall serenely, confidently, then shine a smile upon the courtiers. It would be a fine day when that day came.

But that day was not this day, and there still remained the problem of simply walking into the room, announcing her business, and leaving as if nothing had happened. It was an impossible task, but it had to be accomplished, preferably now.

Screwing up her courage, although she could not understand what she feared from a little girl who had just come here, Carole gave the doorknob a little twist and pushed. The door was unlocked, so she walked in with as much grace and composure as was rightfully hers. Immediately she saw the straight, proud figure gazing out the window, chin propped up against a bent hand. She gave no notice that she had heard anyone trespass into her private domain.

"Erm…" Carole attempted to begin, but her tongue caught in her throat and produced a strange gurgle that sounded out of place in the surprisingly elegant room. She knew perfectly well that the Daughters did not give them much to work with, but there was a sort of refined crispness around Alceta's. Unfortunately, nothing but the flowery speech of courtiers seemed to be fitting.

"It's been two days."

_There, finally getting it out._

The chair pushed back from the desk and Alceta turned. Almost unconsciously, Carole noted the uncertainty in her eyes, as well as the defiance on her face. This would prove to be a fight she did not want to become engaged in.

"Yes, I know." 

"So can you tell me now?" She was surprised that it had turned out so easily; after all, confrontations generally turned out for the worst.

"Take a seat," Alceta motioned towards her bed, "and the games shall begin…"

* * * * *

She was startled but not unduly so when Carole had simply strode into her room as if it were her own. It was her own fault for leaving the door unlocked, although she had no knowledge of the simple magic upon which it operated. Alceta recognized that the Daughters only educated those who possessed sufficient quantities of the "Gift", but somehow, she also suspected that they were not telling her everything, just like everyone else here.

Well, she would show them wrong. Eventually.

At the moment, there was a much more pressing problem: what to do with the frustrated redhead who had been slighted several days ago. Who on Earth—or Tortall—knew what Carole was capable of when angered? And she had heard that redheads tended to flame.

Alceta manipulated her features to mirror her surroundings; timeless, cool, and sharp, so she hoped. "Fine then," she heard Carole say, "go on." 

_Oh, I will,_ she thought, _as soon as I figure out what exactly to say._ She should have been expecting a visit from her guide, but she had been neglectful and unobservant. It was a mistake she would not make again, so long as her mind was free.

"I shall…but about what?" she spoke, her tongue dancing over the words as if she were discussing the newest theories of string behavior.

Carole's chest heaved with a sigh, and she knitted her brows together. "Oh, you know perfectly well," she snapped before tempering her voice. "Why did you turn away from me?"

Slowly, her eyelids closed over dark, unreadable eyes. "To ask you the truth," Alceta twisted her mouth, "have I?" Her eyes popped wide open, one after the other, and she gazed questioningly across the three feet of empty space between herself and Carole.

"What have you done? I'll answer that fast enough. You've walked away, ignored me, started to exchange things with Taria, and do you need anything else?" Her hands shook in anger, but her voice was calm. A few more minutes, however, and Alceta sensed that it would have risen to blast holes through the roof.

Instead of inducing her uncontrolled fury, she carefully lowered her eyes as so to appear guilt-ridden. "You must forgive me, but I believe there have been misunderstandings." Her chin tilted up, and she continued, "Each must act upon his own interests, without sacrificing the rights of others to do so. Excessively."

"And you have not been excessive?" Carole demanded.

"Have I? In fact, have I acted against your favor in any situation at all, while preserving my personal, oh, what do you call it?" she shrugged, "Honor?"

A freckled face hardened. "Do you even have any?"

Alceta grinned like a half-grown wolf pup waiting for its first show of mettle and strength. She sensed that it was as good a time as any to play her trump card, the final opportunity to play with her mind. "But of course! And to prove it…" Her hand swept out in a dramatic arc, finishing with a sheet of parchment between her fingers. "Do take a look at this."

She accepted it and giggled softly as she read over the notes. A breath of air left Alceta's mouth swiftly and quietly, and she was satisfied that the heightened tension had been snapped. She had done it. _She had done it, a task that needed to be accomplished, and all by herself_. 

The girls exchanged identical looks, one filled with barely concealed glee, the other, with uncomfortable embarrassment. "I'm really sorry then," Carole mumbled. "I truly thought that—well, you know," she finished haltingly.

"It's quite all right," Alceta acknowledged the apology, a note of graciousness entering her tone. "I would have done the same. But if problems have been solved, then shall we shake upon a bond of camaraderie?"

"Agreed." Sticking out her hand, Carole grasped Alceta's in a firm, quick movement and yanked it up and down a few times before releasing her grip.

"Give me a week or so, and I can assure you that all that is wrong will be made right, to the best of my ability."

"Accepted."

They stared at each other for a few moments before spinning around at the same time. There was an awkward silence, and when Alceta decided to look behind her, the door was closed and Carole was gone.

AN: Thanks to all my reviewers—you all really make me happy. I'm going over and editing all my old chapters, so hopefully each time I update, one new chapter will go up, as well as one revised old chapter, starting with Chapter One. From now on, I'll also be alternating when writing new chapters, so things might not get posted very often…ah well, c'est la vie.

l8er,

-cybErdrAgOn


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